


Your helpful red hand

by whittler_of_words



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Forgiveness, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Mute Frisk, Post-Undertale Genocide Route, Post-Undertale Soulless Pacifist Route, Reconciliation, Unreliable Narrator, reader is sans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-05
Updated: 2016-12-05
Packaged: 2018-09-06 18:25:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8764087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whittler_of_words/pseuds/whittler_of_words
Summary: they hesitate. you can see it in the way they almost lean back for a moment, wringing their hands and biting their lip. ah, you think. here we go.i want to know how much you remember, they say, about the other timelines.__An apology is made.





	

**Author's Note:**

> hi so this fic is a result of a lot of personal feelings regarding the no mercy route, so inb4 this probably isn't gonna turn out how you expect.
> 
>  
> 
> _/You have yet to extend/ your  
>  helpful red hand/ and when   
> at last you exceed demand/   
> there waiting   
> is someone encapsulated/   
> from the outside and inwards/   
> the label applies/   
> cocooned by the walls/   
> lost in the days/ a stranger is   
> [hiding]   
> inside of her face/ _

i.

it’d feel like too much of a lie to say you wake up every morning with your mind still stuck in your old house. twenty minutes spent staring up at your ceiling until the sense of aborted deja vu makes you move -- more like: twenty minutes spent staring up at your ceiling because you couldn’t be bothered to get up either way. maybe you’d feel better about your lack of motivation if there was some sign of you being riddled with post reset- something, but. eh. there’s no reason for it to start bothering you now. 

there’s no reason for a lot of things, actually. guess them’s just the breaks.

the sun is streaming full force through the windows by the time you trudge down to the kitchen, and papyrus spares you a greeting wave before turning back to the pamphlet in his hands. he’s been studying for his permit test even though he’d already been hoarding old versions of the rulebook every time one fell into the underground, because SAFETY IS IMPORTANT and something else about staying up to date with the law. it’s easy to see how dedication is one of his strong suits. sometimes you think he kind of just absorbs the trait from the environment around him. it’s incredible.

“any plans later?” a couple buttons pressed is all it takes to get the coffee machine churning. your best friend.

“DUBIOUS. TREEHOUSE,” papyrus mutters, obviously not paying full attention to anything else. “HOUSE......IN A TREE.”

“ahuh.” a squirt of ketchup goes into the finished coffee, and you sit across the table from your brother. 

“BUILDING! WE’RE BUILDING ONE!” he sits up finally, only sparing the bitter-smelling cup of liquid in your hands a disapproving look before moving on. “APPARENTLY BUILDING A TREE-ELEVATED LIVING FORT IS AN EXPRESSION OF FAMILIAL BONDING IN HUMAN CULTURE, SO! UNDYNE AND I HAVE DECIDED TO TRY IT FOR OURSELVES. YOU SHOULD COME!”

“maybe.” you let the word slide out of your mouth like you haven’t already decided you’ll go just to see how long it takes before he and undyne start hurling wooden boards at each other. it must be pretty convincing, from the look on papyrus’ face. “treehouse, huh? i guess it sounds pretty neat.”

that seems to get him right back into it again. “OF COURSE IT IS, SANS. AND EVEN IF IT WASN’T, IT WILL BE ONCE I’M THROUGH MAKING ONE!” he pauses. you take a sip. “AND UNDYNE. AND ALPHYS, I GUESS? AND FRISK!”

you stop. swallow. “thought it was gonna be just you and undyne,” you venture.

“WELL, ALPHYS HAS HER BUILDING EXPERTISE,” papyrus explains, already opening up his pamphlet again, “AND FRISK IS THE ONE WHO IS MOST FAMILIAR WITH THE HUMAN TREEHOUSE TRADITION. SO WE ARE GOING! TO DO IT! TOGETHER!! AND YOU TOO.” he squints at you just enough for his eyes to be visible over the page. “MY PREVIOUS REQUEST WAS RHETORICAL. YOU DON’T HAVE A CHOICE.”

treehouse. wooden planks. building materials -- hammers, nails; you think of the kid with a handsaw in their grip and it takes a real good effort for yours to not tighten on your cup. haha. yeah.

“right again, bro.” you stand up. dump the rest of your coffee down the kitchen sink. “looks like i didn’t have much of a choice after all.”

ii.

see, the thing is: you know what guilt looks like. 

it looks like the bit of skin beside someone’s eye when they look away and refuse to meet your gaze. it looks like an uneasy smile; it’s the empty spaces between words that’d go unnoticed if it weren’t for the way it tended to make their hands shake. and the thing is: you know that grief leaves the same aftertaste in your mouth that far too many of your dreams do. grief, and guilt.

anger is another matter entirely, of course, but. hey. beggars can’t be choosers.

frisk walks around you like -- not you exactly, or them, but something between you is made of glass. like if they make the wrong move or say the wrong thing something terrible will fall apart. and it’s the way they _don’t_ move sometimes; the way they rest their weight on the soles of their feet, or rock on their toes -- little things you never would or should have noticed that send little sparks of something down your spine. something like a warning. something you’ve come to know, through experience, that means you’ve seen it Before.

sometimes you wonder what it means that you, out of every sorry sucker in the underground, had to be the one who knew just enough to know what to look for. not enough to be able to do anything about it, of course. just enough to realize what it meant when you saw a kid stumbling through a door and, for just a moment, saw dust on their shorts instead of snow. for just a moment, almost couldn’t stop yourself from ending their journey right then and there.

because the thing is: it takes a lot to make you angry.

and they play house. and now you’ve all seen the sun, and frisk is a good ambassador, and a better child, and they walk around you like there’s tape on their feet while refusing to look you in the face. they expect you to know, you think. they think you remember. fuck if you know why they think that, but you guess they’re not entirely wrong.

for all that there’s nothin you could do regardless, at least it means you can keep a socket on ‘em.

you’ll be right here the second they decide to stop playing pretend.

iii.

you’re not expecting the knock at your door.

you don’t rush opening it. anyone who knows you knows that days off from work are sacred, and you didn’t make any plans, so whoever it is gets to wait a minute. at least a couple of ‘em have passed by the time you trudge to your bedroom door, and you have to squint for a second at the light change before--

ah.

 _i need to ask you something,_ frisk says. they only meet your gaze for a moment before looking to the side.

“sure thing,” you say. they step back to let you through the doorway and you close it behind yourself, scratching the back of your skull as you head toward the stairs. even on the carpet, frisk’s footsteps are audible behind you. part of you wonders how much of that is on purpose.

“can i get ya somethin?” you rummage through the fridge as you ask, reaching for a mustard bottle. for when you feel like spicing things up. “we don’t have much, but, uh...”

they shake their head. _i’m fine. i won’t be here long._

hm. “so. you wanted to ask me something.” you lean against the counter, and they nod. “well, shoot, kid.”

they hesitate. you can see it in the way they almost lean back for a moment, wringing their hands and biting their lip. 

ah, you think. here we go.

but then they look you square in the face, and there’s no trace of nervousness in their fingers as they sign at all.

 _i want to know how much you remember,_ they say, _about the other timelines._

you chuckle. can’t really help yourself. “heh. thought as much.” you twirl the mustard cap in your fingers. “any particular reason why, or...?” you pause, giving them more than enough time to supply you with whatever they might have, but they don’t say a word. fair enough. it occurs to you that you could play dumb, pretend you don’t know what they’re talking about; it’d keep surprise on your side, and you’re not sure you’ll like where this conversation will go if you spill your pocketful of beans. 

they’d been very clear in their wording, though. not “if” you remember. just how much. things always get a lot harder for you when the kid has their mind set.

you shrug. “i wouldn’t really say ‘remember’ is the right word, pal. i get deja vu sometimes. enough to piece some things together.”

you’re not sure what you expected their reaction to that to be, but you don’t think it was -- disappointment. something close to it, at least; close enough to make their shoulders droop just slightly, their expression changing in a way you don’t think you can quantify.

 _i thought--_ they start, and then they stop. gather themself. _so you don’t remember...details._

ha. you know where this is going. you screw the cap back on, wiping your fingers on your jacket. “more or less. but if it’s something specific you’re asking if i know...” you close one eye socket, and frisk tints blue with the rest of your vision. “you’d best just be out with it, bud.”

for a long, long second, neither of you say anything else, until, _i don’t need to ask,_ they say, _do i._

“if you mean, do you need to ask if i know what you did to my friends once upon a time?” you shrug. “nope. guess not.”

you thought they would jerk back, maybe. flinch. but all they do is nod, like it’s just another piece of info they’re slotting away, and you do your best to settle the uneasiness settling between your ribs.

 _okay,_ they say. _okay. i just want to say one more thing._ and for the first time since you met them, they frown. _stop acting like i’m going to kill your brother the second i get the chance._

the splutter that escapes between your teeth happens with no input from you. “and why is that?”

 _do you think i’m evil?_ is all they ask.

“well...”

 _you do,_ they say, and this time the look on their face is disbelief. _you think i killed everyone because i wanted to._

“all i’m saying is, it takes a certain sorta mindset to grind through the entire underground, y’know?” you can feel the smile on your face grow. “you sayin i shouldn’t be cautious after that?”

 _so what about me?_ they say, and -- there’s anger there, in the weight of their signs and the way they jab their finger at their chest. _should i be refusing to be alone with undyne, or papyrus, or mettaton? what about toriel?_

“what?”

 _they hurt me first,_ frisk says. their hands are shaking now. _they killed me first._

for a moment, you can only stare at them. their fists are balled at their sides. the firm line of their mouth wavers as you watch. “that’s--”

 _don’t,_ they interrupt. _don’t you dare say that was different. you look at me like you expect me to kill everyone in their sleep,_ they say, _like you think i enjoy hurting people. i just wanted to go home._

“ahuh.” this... wasn’t how you were thinking this conversation would go. you twist the cap off again; a petty attempt at stalling for time. “you uh, sure hurt a lot of people to reach that goal, buckaroo.”

from the way they pull at their hair, that was the wrong thing to say. _are you even listening to me?? do you even know how many times i died trying to find a way to get past toriel without killing her?_ they continue before you can answer. _thirty! thirty times, until i couldn’t take it anymore and fought back! there was no way for me to know there even was a way to leave without hurting anybody._

“uh,” you say.

_why should i have to apologize for the dust on my hands when no one ever felt bad about my blood on theirs?_

they’re crying.

their face is flushed, tears beginning to trail wet tracks down their cheeks, and you can hear them wheeze as they try not to sob. it’s uncomfortable, and you wish more than anything else that you weren’t here. they don’t give you a chance to use a shortcut.

 _if you’re going to be angry at me for killing even a single person in the other timelines,_ they say, _then you’re going to have to be mad at a lot more people than you thought._

they stand there for a moment. and then they’re gone; they turn around, slamming the front door behind them as they leave, and you’re left with nothing but the sound of passing traffic through the kitchen window. for a long, long minute, you find you can’t move at all.

well, you think.

at least papyrus isn’t home.

iv.

 

* you were right.  
* i was bein a hypocrite. and i wouldn’t’ve realized unless you told me like you did

 

* K

 

* you mad?

 

* Trying not to be

 

* fair.  
* look...here’s the deal  
* i think we can both agree that this entire situation is a fucking mess. and i can’t promise i’ll be able to stop connecting you to oh shit look out  
* just because i understand why you did it a little more doesn’t mean it wasn’t still the experience it was on my end

 

* Yeah i know what thats like

 

* heh  
* i’m not the greatest with apologies ok. feelings aren’t my forte. i’m more of a mezzo piano sort of guy  
* but for what it’s worth. when i do apologize, i’m gonna make sure i mean it.

 

* ...Ok  
* Me too  
* Inb4 it’s gonna take a while for both of us tho?

 

* kid i have no idea what that first part means but yeah i think so

 

* Lol

 

* lol?

 

* Lots of LOVE :)  
* Kidding  
* Sorry. bad joke

 

* wow frisk... didn’t EXPect you to have that sorta humor

 

* Ok........that was a good one  
* Keep it up and i’ll be forgiving you for letting everyone kill me in no time

 

* ok let’s just work on one interpersonal issue at a time here bucko

 

* d;

**Author's Note:**

> a big thanks to the ut rp discord for motivating me to do this!!!  
> credit for the poem goes to the abstraction arg


End file.
